


Hatbox

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Shower Sex, casefic, enchanted objects, season 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 09:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15264990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: Dean’s started using an old leather hat box he found in the Bunker to carry his Western gear. Unfortunately for him it really should have been in the room of cursed and clearly labeled objects and not in what the brothers jokingly call the junk room





	Hatbox

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, only my story. Written for the 2018 spncanonbigbang. Story inspired by [a post on tumblr](https://thejabberwock.tumblr.com/post/167610008317/excuse-you-sir-is-that-a-fucking-hat-box) about Dean’s hatbox in 13.06. A lot of the Western slang and lingo comes [from here](https://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-slang/2/). Thanks to my beta, [crazyladyinvegas](http://crazyladyinvegas.tumblr.com) for the great suggestions.
> 
>  
> 
> Art Masterpost [is here.](http://winchesterchola.tumblr.com/tagged/hatbox) 

 

 

******

 

“Dude, what in all of tarnation is with the staring?” Dean asked, sliding his eyes to the side to take in Sam’s unblinking wide eyes.

 

Sam shifted in the passenger seat, vinyl creaking beneath him. “Just realizing, I like you in that hat.”

 

Dean felt the corners of his eyes crinkle up as he smiled wide and genuine at Sam’s words. “Why thank you kindly, sir,” he said, tipping the brim of his hat towards Sam like he’d seen the cowboys do in all the old movies.

 

Sam’s giggle made him grin even wider and he settled the hat a bit further back on his head. “Hey, you mind if we mosey on back home a little slower than usual?”

 

“Mosey?” Sam asked with a barely suppressed snort of surprise.

 

“I just mean to say, we should take a little time, there’s nothing lightin’ a fire under your britches to git on home, right?” Dean tipped the brim of the hat once again, loving the way Sam’s responses had now morphed into a full-body laugh.

 

“I think I’ll take it back about the hat,” Sam said with one of those bitch-faces Dean will never get tired of seeing. This one is the ‘I’m so done with your BS but I love you anyway’ and he can never ever see it enough plastered on Sam’s face.

 

“Why whatever made you change your mind, pardner?” Dean asked, getting a little concerned that Sam might not mean it.

 

“If it’s going to make you talk like an extra from Tombstone all the time, then forget it,” Sam said, slumping back in his seat and crossing his arms across his chest, getting into his normal front-seat sleeping position. “But take as long as you want to get home, it’s fine with me, _pardner_.”

 

Dean was about to say something back to the sarcastic use of the word pardner, but then he saw Sam’s head begin to nod and he didn’t want to interrupt the nap his brother obviously needed more than some extra banter. Tombstone extra though? More like a lead. He stopped at the next likely looking motel, unfortunately this one wasn’t western-themed like that awesome one they’d stayed in with Jack and Cas. He vaguely hoped that the kid wasn’t too messed up seeing what he’d walked in on through those swinging saloon doors… _ahem_.

 

“I’ll git us a room, you pony up our gear,” Dean said as he headed out of the car towards the lit-up motel office. That meant he didn’t get to see Sam’s wtf bitch face, although he could feel it hitting him right between the shoulder blades.

 

He tipped his hat up a bit so he could look the desk clerk in the eye, all the better to pass off a forged credit card. That honest eye-to-eye thing always sold it.

 

“Good evenin’ my fine sir,” Dean said, sliding across his credit card. “I’d like to engage one of your finest rooms in this here establishment for one night if you please."

 

The clerk didn’t say anything, but his eyebrows hit the ceiling. He ran the credit card without mentioning the great cowboy name on it, Tom Ketchum, aka Black Jack Ketchum.

 

“Why thank you kindly,” Dean said, signing his fake name with a flourish and pocketing the card keys.

 

Dean ambled back to the car, enjoying the way his bowlegs seemed to work a little better when he had the cowboy boots on. It certainly put a swing in his hips, which Sam was definitely noticing.

 

“Fancy meeting you here, darlin’, would you care to accompany me to my room?” Dean drawled at Sam, taking his duffel from his overburdened brother. Sam just rolled his eyes and followed him.

 

“Oh, I’ll surely be needin’ my hatbox,” Dean said, turning back to the Impala’s trunk. “Unless you’re expectin’ me to wear my hair case all night that is.” He leered at Sam, wiggling eyebrows and all which only received another dramatic eye roll from Sam.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t know what that thing was, so I didn’t grab it,” Sam said.

 

“This, my darlin’ is a hatbox, wherein one stores one’s hair case while traveling so as to not get any untoward creases or damage to said hat.”

 

“I’ve never heard the term hair case for cowboy hat. The hatbox looks vintage to me though, where’d you get it?” Sam asked.

 

“I found it in one of the junk rooms back at the ol’ homestead. I lost my last one on that chupacabra hunt, out on the edge of the prairie where the desert rolls on like the sea.”

 

“Dean, can you cut it out please, it’s getting a little old,” Sam said.

 

“Cut what out, darlin?” Dean asked.

 

Dean received a third, and rather epic eye roll at that question.

 

Sam didn’t say anything more, just went about his nightly motel routine, kit bag in the bathroom, salt line at the door and window, sigils drawn in invisible sharpie. Dean watched the methodical way Sam covered the whole room, so efficient and precise. It was a real turn-on, well anything Sam did so competently was.

 

“You shore are good at all that, it’s a far piece better ’n I could do,” Dean said, sitting on the edge of the bed, legs in a sprawl.

 

Sam came to stand between his legs and reached down to undo his enormous brass belt buckle, it clanked and stuck fast. Sam tugged at it, frowning.

 

“Guess I plumb lost the key,” Dean said with a grin that he lost when the buckle wouldn’t open at his own attempt. That was weird, usually this belt was prone to coming undone on its own. It had travelled in the hatbox with his boots and hat to the case because of that very reason.

 

“Too bad for you then,” Sam said shrugging out of his flannel. He stepped away from Dean and shut himself in the bathroom.

 

Dean wasn’t sure what had just happened, he’d thought he was going to…that they were about to…his thoughts about the recalcitrant belt buckle disappeared. He got up and knocked on the bathroom door, “Sammy, what the heck happened?”

 

The only answer was a flush of the toilet and the shower turning on. With the door shut and locked between them, Dean got the message and slumped back towards the bed. He laid down on top of the coverlet, crossed his boot-clad feet and flannel covered arms and tipped his hat to cover his eyes—and promptly fell asleep. He dreamed of riding the range, roping cattle, sliding onto barstools in saloons, shooting targets blindfolded, all the good stuff. He didn’t wake up until a few hours later when Sam was moaning and thrashing in his sleep.

 

“You’re okay, little buddy, don’t you worry about the first lil’ thing, I got you safe and sound, right here,” Dean said, gathering Sam into his arms.

 

Sam struggled and tried to push him away. Dean wouldn’t let him though, just pulled him back into the circle of his arms and whistled one of the calm-the-herd tunes he always used.

 

“Dean, you need to cut that out, it’s too much in the middle of the night,” Sam mumbled into his neck. He fell back asleep before Dean could say anything, Sam’s sleepy-warm body lulled him back to his dreams of riding the range, seeing a beautiful sunset over the mesas every night with Sam always by his side.

 

“Time to rise and shine cowpoke,” Dean declared when he got back to their room with a takeout breakfast. He juggled the tray of coffees and breakfast burritos. “Got some grub for us from Cookie down the road apiece, wasn’t sure how peckish you’d be.”

 

Sam opened his eyes and sat up with a scowl marring his beautiful pillow-creased face. He stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

 

“Well, a fine good mornin’ to you too, darlin’,” Dean said to the closed bathroom door.

 

“The western cowboy talk, or whatever you’re thinking it is, it’s getting annoying,” Sam said through the door. Dean could imagine the face Sam was making and was momentarily glad he didn’t actually have to see it.

 

Dean shrugged and ate his breakfast alone at the little table. Based on his short walk to get their food, it was going to be a fine day for a drive, he felt a vague wish for a set of horses instead of his baby. At least she had a good horse name and that suited him just fine.

 

The door to the bathroom finally opened and Sam emerged in a cloud of steam, clothed only in a towel around his waist.

 

“You slept in that whole get-up all night?” Sam asked around a mouthful of toothpaste.

 

Dean hadn’t wanted to take his boots or hat off, they felt too good. It hadn’t crossed his mind when he’d woken up in them this morning, still on top of the bedspread.

 

“A course I did, gotta be ready to ride hell for leather anytime,” Dean said, wondering why he had to state the obvious to Sam who should know the near-constant state of emergency they existed in by now.

 

“Dean, can you please just stop?” Sam asked, after he’d spat and rinsed and glared at him in the bathroom mirror.

 

“Thought you’d want to get our Brokeback on before we left, since we’re in such a fine establishment,” Dean said, cocking his hip out to one side. That pose usually worked on Sam, it showed off the goods pretty well. But it didn’t today for some reason.

 

“Let’s just go home, okay? All the cowboy talk, isn’t doing it for me,” Sam admitted, packing his kit bag into his duffel.

 

“Well, alrighty then, pardner, we’ll wait for another day to git yer corn ground,” Dean said with a leer. He had a very long list in his mind of all the cowboy phrases for sex and that had always been near the top to try out on Sam. Shame it didn’t work as well as he’d hoped.

 

Sam huffed at that and slammed his way out of the motel room. Dean gathered up his duffel bag and empty hatbox wondering why Sam wasn’t jumping his bones like usual. Especially after a fairly successful hunt like they’d just finished up. Maybe it was the whole issue with Jack freaking out over killing that guy. The scowl on Sam’s face that greeted him on the passenger side of the car answered him.

 

Dean guessed it was going to be the silent treatment for some unknown reason all the way home. He tipped his hat back a bit so he could see a bit better out the windshield. The tape of Eagles, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Johnny Cash would have to fill the silence. That was the most country western type of music he had, and he didn’t examine too closely the reason for wanting to play it at that moment. It wasn’t to bug Sam, because Sam usually sang along to some of the songs on this one. It was something about the country western point of view he got from the lyrics. Dean wondered if there was some old-fashioned true country music, out ridin’ the range kind of stuff that would be good. He’d have to google it or something, maybe go as far as to get Sam to download him a playlist.

 

As the miles passed by and the tape had to be flipped for a third time he didn’t notice how much he had to keep rearranging the hat as he drove, it would slip a bit forward and all of a sudden the low brim would be dangerously cutting off a big part of his view. It was something to do, since they weren’t talking.

 

“Isn’t that thing getting uncomfortable to wear in the car?” Sam asked after one hundred fifty miles of silence.

 

“Naw, it’s just a bit pesky is all,” Dean said, glad that Sam was finally talking even if it was just some bitching about his awesome hat.

 

“Why are you still doing this?” Sam asked through gritted teeth. “You’re taking this western fetish thing a bit far, even for you.”

 

“P’shaw, Sammy, it’s just me is all,” Dean said with a grin that he felt quickly fade at the look on Sam’s face when he glanced away from the road. He looked back at the horizon and went silent.

 

“I’m not participating in this—whatever this is. You want to have your fun with it, fine, whatever. But we’ve got some things we’re still working on, and I’m going to concentrate on that.”

 

“Don’t gotta be a queer fish about it,” Dean grumbled.

 

“Did you just call me a queer fish?” Sam asked, sounding scandalized.

 

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Dean said, glad to have gotten Sam’s attention back.

 

“You are really something, you never know when to stop. The joke has been played out, dude,” Sam said in a flat harsh tone that made Dean’s hair stand up on the back of his neck.

 

“No need to git ornery ‘bout it, Sammy,” Dean said.

 

“You’re the one still wearing the same clothes as you were in all day yesterday,” Sam said with a dramatic sigh. He banged his head against the passenger-side window, eyes shut tight and arms folded over his chest. Dean immediately realized he wasn’t going to get any more play out of him for the rest of the drive. He settled in to the driver’s seat and sped them on down the road.

 

***

 

Walking the bunker’s halls in his snakeskin cowboy boots felt different somehow, and his hat actually brushed the top of a few of the lower doorways, but he still kept them on, even while he cooked them dinner. Maybe the special pan-fried steaks with herb butter potatoes he was making would coax Sam out of his bitchy attitude.

 

“You’re still wearing all that?” Sam asked from the kitchen doorway, obviously drawn in by the good smells from the steak and beans he had going on the stovetop.

 

“Sure as shootin’, it’s pretty durn comfortable,” Dean said with a grin. “I always wanted to be a pot rustler, ya know, Cookie always seemed to have the best time out of all of us out on the trail.”

 

Sam grimaced and didn’t say anything, he pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge and fiddled with opening them. He handed one to Dean and clinked their bottles together with something that almost looked like a smile.

 

Dean hoped that it was and hey at least Sam was here and handing him opened-up beers like he was supposed to be. He did notice that it tasted kind of watery at first sip. He took another swallow and felt his throat convulse almost bringing the beer back up.

 

“This beer tastes like prairie coal,” Dean said.

 

“Does prairie coal by any chance mean cow chips?” Sam asked after a moment of thought where he’d scrunched up his forehead in that cute way he had when he was thinking extra hard about something important.

 

“Yup, that’s the stuff,” Dean said, setting the bottle down on the counter between them.

 

“This makes a whole lot more sense now that I know for sure that you’re cursed, Dean,” Sam said with a relieved grin.

 

“Naw, I’m in apple pie order here,” Dean said, looking up at Sam, wondering what his brother was going on about now. It was always something with him, looking for the worst possible explanations for things.

 

“You’re really really not, and I know because of what I just put in your beer,” Sam said, that proud little-brother tone set Dean’s back teeth to grinding.

 

Dean turned off the flame under the pan that he had the steaks frying in and stalked out of the kitchen. Leave it to Sam to ruin a perfectly fine dinner. He wasn’t feeling hungry anyway, the horrible taste from whatever Sam had spiked his beer with was still coating the inside of his mouth and curdling his stomach. He flopped down on his bed, momentarily hesitating at the thought that he really ought to take the boots off before he got his comforter dirty. But that seemed silly, so thinking no more of it, Dean crossed his arms over his chest and under the cover of the cowboy hat closed his eyes.

 

He vaguely heard Sam rustling around in his room, but the darkness underneath the hat made it easier to ignore and stay in that near dreaming state, the ground flew under his horse’s feet as they raced across the prairie after another escaped calf. The sound of a lighter flint striking woke him up though, he sat up and watched in horror as the flames leapt up from the center of his beautiful leather hatbox. The long shoulder strap caught fire first, and then the fabric lining, finally the outer edge of the round shape was engulfed in flames that turned green then gold and back to green again.

 

“No! Don’t burn it!” Dean shouted, hearing how strange his voice sounded, almost like it was two voices at once. Where was that drawling accent coming from?

 

Sam flinched at the extra volume in Dean’s strange shout, the otherworldly tone still ringing in the room. He rattled off some words in Latin quickly, obviously some sort of spell and tossed something into the flames consuming the hatbox. 

 

Dean tried to stop himself but the boots, the hat, even the belt, they all pulled him into the motion of throwing his body towards the flames. Sam caught him around the waist and threw him back onto the bed. He leapt up again and tried to get closer to put the raging flames out, to stop the fire consuming the hatbox, but Sam pushed him down onto his back.

 

“No! You can’t burn ME!” Dean shouted in a voice that he definitely knew wasn’t his own.

 

Sam covered Dean with his body, pinning him to the bed as Dean struggled beneath him. The boots, the hat, the belt buckle all began to burn hotter than hot. He felt a scream bubbling up that he had to let out.

 

“Nooooo!” Dean screamed in that strange voice. But then it left him. All the heat disappeared and the feeling that his voice was no longer his went with it.

 

“Sammy, what the fuck was that?” Dean asked in his own voice, thank Chuck or whoever, blessedly his own voice.

 

He could feel Sam’s body quaking with silent laughter on top of him. He pounded at his brother’s back to get him to stop because it wasn’t cool right then, what with whatever the hell had just happened to him.

 

Sam raised himself up from crushing Dean into the bed and looked at him with an amused smile. “Dude, you were cursed. The hatbox, it was a cursed object. Whatever time period of hat you put in there three times, it would make you talk that way forever, and you wouldn’t be able to take the hat off,” Sam said.

 

Dean didn’t know what to say, that sounded so crazy. It was just a nice roomy hatbox, that he’d found in the storage room, not something he’d taken off the cursed object shelves. There hadn’t been a Men of Letters file tag on it, nothing marking it as extraordinary.

 

“And let me guess, you put your cowboy boots and that hideous belt in there too?” Sam asked as he laid back down on top of Dean, pressing him into the bed, but not in that desperate I’m-saving-you way like he had been.

 

“Yep, sure as shootin’ I did,” Dean said in a drawl, just to see if he could freak Sam out.

 

Sam’s body went rigid on top of him, and he pushed up again to see Dean’s face. “You’re just fucking with me now, aren’t you, you dick!”

 

Dean laughed with glee, glad to have been released from the curse, he struggled to get his arms out from underneath Sam and flipped his hat off, throwing it across the room. “Lil’ darlin’, you’ve gone balmy on me.”

 

Sam started laughing and rolled off of Dean, body shaking with the relief that Dean shared.

 

Dean took that chance to undo the belt buckle and pull off his belt, he dropped it to the floor along with the boots. God it felt good to take all this shit off, it had been two days.

 

“I bet my hair looks a real sight,” Dean said, still drawling through the giggles that felt better than anything he’d felt in ages. Lying here post-curse with Sam, who’d saved him yet again.

 

“You cut that out now,” Sam said, all serious and forceful.

 

“Yes, sir,” Dean said, sketching out a sarcastic salute.

 

“If the curse had stayed on you for just a few more hours, it would have been permanent, Dean. It would have taken you over, stuck your mind in a world where you were a cowboy from that era. I would have lost you."

 

“But you fixed it, like you always do, Sam. I’m okay, really,” Dean said, just as serious.

 

“It was kind of cute at first,” Sam admitted. “I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out, I just thought you were fooling around, like you do when you wear that stuff.”

 

“Cute, huh? Like callin’ you lil’ darlin’ and my pardner an’ all?” Dean asked with a slight drawl. Hopefully one that wouldn’t ruin the mood too much.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Sam said, blushing in that way that always melted Dean’s heart.

 

“So if I call you things like that now and then, you won’t wake snakes about it?”

 

“Wake snakes, that’s one I can’t translate,” Sam said.

 

“It means to cause a ruckus, which is what you tend to do when you don’t like something, ‘specially somethin’ new like that. Hell, you’d probably think I was cursed again, start putting shit in my beer again,” Dean said.

 

“Oh is that right?”

 

“Yeah, it is, but I’ll do it if you want, pardner,” Dean said.

 

“You could say the non-cowboy version of that sometime, I’d be cool with it,” Sam said.

 

“What, partner?” Dean asked, surprised that Sam was being so direct about this relationship stuff that they usually both avoided putting a name to. He’d always felt it wasn’t something that could have one word sum it up.

 

“Yeah, I mean it’s a word that works in a lot of situations, like when we’re working, we’re alwaystelling people that were are partners of some kind, and the rest of the time, well…”

 

“It works for that too, especially since I can’t introduce you as my little brother, which no one ever believes anyway, and then start macking on you at the bar or whatever.”

 

“Definitely better than some of the alternatives out there, no doubt,” Sam said.

 

“What like, lover or ‘whole kit and caboodle,'” Dean asked.

 

Sam burst out laughing which wasn’t the reaction Dean had been expecting at all.

 

“How about I introduce you as my beliked? No one will know what it means unless they’re cowboy experts.”

 

“What’s it mean?” Sam asked.

 

“That’s for me to know and for you to google later,” Dean said, pulling Sam into his arms, shutting off any further questions with a deep and searching kiss.

 

Sam got into it immediately, some of that I-just-almost-lost-you energy still there between them. It wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world, not like dying bad, but he wouldn’t have been him. And Sam wouldn’t have loved him like this.

 

Like this force of nature that his brother always had been, tornado powerful, spring rain soft and sweet as the first corn of the year. Internally he shook his head at himself for thinking of Sam like that, he’d never hear the end of the teasing if Sam only knew.

 

“If I only knew what?” Sam asked, breathless from the kiss.

 

“If you only knew how happy I am not to be stuck in those boots,” Dean said.

 

“Thought they were comfortable,” Sam said.

 

“Yeah for a few hours, but not for days, and not for driving,” Dean said.

 

“You need a foot rub?”

 

“You don’t want to get near them until I’ve had a shower, believe me, not after two straight days with the same socks,” Dean said.

 

Sam got up from the bed, so graceful for one so tall and so turned on from the view Dean had as his brother hesitated in the doorway.

 

“You comin’ or what?” Sam asked.

 

“If there’s a happy ending foot rub at the end, you couldn’t keep me away,” Dean said, joining Sam in a footrace down the hallway to the shower room.

 

Sam got two of the showers going to warm up the room and turned back to see Dean fussing with his hair in the mirror.

 

“Looks like two hedgehogs set up a homestead,” Dean said with a scowl to Sam’s reflection.

  
Sam grinned and ran his hands through Dean’s hair, spiking it out in all directions.

“That is a serious case of hat-head,” Sam said.

 

“Hey, it’s been a few days, I was cursed, remember?”

 

“Oh I do remember, believe me. That’s why we’re going to get you clean now,” Sam said, reaching past Dean to the medicine cabinet shelves, pulling out a small glass bottle with a hand-written label.

 

“What is that?” Dean asked, taking off the clothes he’d been wearing for those long days of being cursed.

 

“It’s basically a post-curse shower gel. I found the recipe for it in the footnotes of the book that had the curse-breaking spell I just used on you. Supposed to make sure there’s no ‘tendrils of incipient doom’ left behind.”

 

“So you had time to mix up some shower gel, find the spell to save me and the ingredients to work it while I was making steaks?”

 

“Now that I’ve got everything organized in here, yeah pretty much,” Sam said, shaking the bottle and holding it up to the light. There was a gold-green sparkle that flittered through the substance as he turned it. He set the bottle down on the sink and began to disrobe.

 

Dean’s stomach grumbled loudly after he’d reminded himself about the steaks left in the kitchen. He watched Sam’s skin emerge from all the layers and was reminded of just how much he’d been wanting Sam the last few days. The curse had gotten in the way of that, but now it was gone.

 

“Don’t worry about the steaks, I finished cooking them, they’re in the fridge, we’ll reheat them after we get cleaned up,” Sam assured him, guiding him towards the shower, now gloriously and totally naked. All that warm skin brushing up against him, Sam’s hardness pressing at his lower back as they entered the shower stall together all wound up together.

 

Dean adjusted the temperature and ducked his head under the water, it seemed to not be penetrating all the way down to his scalp. Sam’s hands landed in his hair and began massaging in some of the shower gel stuff and suddenly he could feel a layer of something that had been left behind slither away. It almost felt like a layer coming off the edge of his brain. He shook his head to dislodge it and Sam squawked behind him.

 

Dean spun and caught him before he could fall. Their bodies slid and slipped in the water with all the shower gel suds rising up wherever they touched. “You okay?” Dean asked.

 

“Yeah, guess it’s working, huh?” Sam asked, blinking at him through his curtain of wet hair.

 

“There was something left behind, felt like it peeled off my brain, ’s why I shook my head like that,” Dean said.

 

“And here I thought you just didn’t want me washing your hair,” Sam said.

  
Dean pulled him in close, slotting their bodies together so that there would be no further doubts coming from Sam. He leaned up and kissed Sam under the pouring water, the shower gel now washed away leaving him feeling something beyond clean. Cleansed he supposed, but that didn’t matter now. Not when Sam was kissing him back with all the passion left from the last few days, bottled up and stored waiting to be released when he was finally himself again.

 

Sam’s hips began to thrust against him in that insistent rhythm that Dean could never ignore. “Think that shower gel stuff would work for…?” He waggled his eyebrows until Sam grinned and handed him the bottle after pouring a measure out into his palm.

 

Dean watched as Sam reached around behind himself, spreading his legs and moving his fingers in and out, getting himself opened up and ready. The feel of the coldness of the bottle of magical shower gel the only thing that kept him grounded. He poured some out in his palm and copied Sam, pushing the gel into himself, spreading it along his inner walls, scissoring his fingers in time with the movements of Sam’s arm. He hadn’t been this open, or this hard in a long time. Sam turned and grabbed onto the sturdy railing presenting himself for Dean’s use. He spread his legs wide so that he’d be at the perfect height for Dean to just step between them and press himself in and in and _ahhh finally_.

 

That’s exactly what he’d needed. Dean could feel the shower gel that was coating his skin warming up quickly with the friction, and sinking into the sensitive skin. It seemed to heighten the pleasure, like one of those ‘intimate gels’ you could buy in the condom aisle in the drugstore. He wondered if Sam was feeling it too.

 

“Can you feel it, Sammy?” He managed to ask in-between the thrusts that he didn’t think he could keep up for long.

 

“Uh huh, want to feel it, Dean, when you fill me up,” Sam groaned, pressing back into Dean’s thrusts going up on his tiptoes to take Dean in even deeper.

 

Dean went wild with that idea, thrusting hard and fast, events a blur from there, he felt himself emptying out, deep inside Sam, but then Sam was in him, and he was getting fucked within an inch of his life, Sam frantic behind him. “C’mon, Sammy, give it to me,” he said, circling his hips just to feel his brother’s reaction.

 

Sam held onto his hips even tighter, gone past bruise-tight and double thrusted one last time, coming hot and hard deep inside Dean. The same events-blurring thing happened and he was inside of Sam, still hard and wanting himself, somehow on the edge of coming again. He gripped Sam’s hips in the usual place, pressing his fingers in deep to leave his mark and gave into the pleasure.

 

“Again, I’m comin’ again, get ready,” Dean said, vaguely wondering if this was a new curse as he lost himself in the bliss. There wasn’t another blur, that seemed to be it, the tingle and strange color from the shower gel washing away down the drain.

 

“I’m not gonna ask what’s in that stuff, but I think you ought to make us some more, maybe put it in one of the wall dispensers,” Dean suggested as Sam’s hands roamed lazily around the new bruises on his hips. Dean touched the matching ones on Sam’s hips and nuzzled into the wet crevice of Sam’s neck and shoulder.

 

“You all clean now?” Sam asked after a few long minutes holding each other under the hot spray.

 

Dean leaned back and rinsed his hair in the water one last time and grinned up at his brother. “Yeah, and ready for those steaks.”

 

***

 

“Think Jack is gonna be okay?” Dean asked as they both settled down in his bed, tucking under the covers, clean, warm, full of steak. He felt full of Sam too, thoroughly satisfied, especially to not be wearing any western gear.

 

“I do, yeah, eventually. I mean, between what he saw in the motel room and killing a human he’s got a lot to process, but he’s a smart kid, we’ve gotten him off to a good start,” Sam said, looking at him across the pillows.

 

“I couldn’t help it, that room was so cool, those swinging saloon doors, the whole thing,” Dean said, knowing it was a weak excuse for possibly screwing up the kid when he was still so young.

 

“We can go back sometime if you want to stay there, I wouldn’t mind finishing what we were interrupted doing, but I’m definitely buying you a brand-new hatbox,” Sam said with one of those one-sided grins that promised a whole lot more than some new luggage.

 

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Dean murmured as he kissed his way up the strong column of Sam’s neck.

 

 

_The End_

_(Beliked means beloved)_

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
